Inertia
by Blazingdusk
Summary: In which McCoy is a bitter old man and Chekov gets brave. McCoy/Chekov.


I can't stop, I'll never stop! I love writing this stuff too much. Just a short, sweet little story for you McChekov shippers out there.

Warnings: Likely inaccuracies 'cause I'm lazy and some gay, gay smut. Plot if you squint.

-:- -:-

"Ah! Ah! Please, doctor, be gentle with me!"

McCoy sighed tiredly, letting the hypospray dangle from his fingers. This was the fourth time the kid had nervously warded off his advances, yet _he_ had been the one that had come into the sickbay asking for treatment.

"Really, Ensign? This hypo right here, this is nothing, especially for you. A simple respiratory infection, you could get over it in a couple days. Try acquiring Mizarian herpes, see how badly you want this damn medicine then!" He slammed the hypo down, causing Chekov to flinch. McCoy briefly felt a little guilty for startling the boy, but it was quickly washed away with his usual irritable mood.

"I...I am sorry, doctor, I am just not used to such methods. But I must be in perfect health by tomorrow! I simply must. I will take the medicine, please," he practically begged, and McCoy absolutely refused to turn around and face the certainly-pouting boy.

"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?" he questioned grumpily, but picked the hypospray back up anyway.

"The mission, doctor! Or you are forgetting? To Enara Prime?"

"Oh, damnit!" McCoy slapped a hand to his hair impatiently - he had forgotten all about that damn mission to the Enarian consulate.

"Language, sir," Chekov piped up innocently, but his cheeks curved with mischief. McCoy growled softly, glaring steadfastly in the direction of Chekov's right shoulder. He wielded the hypospray in front of him as a weak defense to the boy's charm.

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy growled. "Ready?"

"I..uh, yes," Chekov said hesitantly, and promptly clenched his eyes shut as McCoy advanced. The doctor skillfully pressed the hypo into the boy's neck and then withdrew it, all in barely a second, but the ensign still managed to flinch spectacularly against the harsh pinch of the hypospray.

"All done, ensign. Now get the hell out of my med bay," he snarled half-heartedly. By the wide grin the boy wore as he hopped off the table, McCoy knew he lacked his usual bite. He was just tired.

That was all.

-:-

He briefly wondered if it was a custom for all Enarian girls to look as slutty as Earth girls. Well, hell, he didn't briefly wonder - he all but glowered at the girls as the thought ran repeatedly through his head.

Namely for the one girl that was seducing young Ensign Chekov with her swaying purple hips. The boy was only, what, seventeen? He was far too young to be seduced. Far too innocent.

"Bones!"

He sighed.

"Jim," he mumbled, tossing back another swig of his drink. He wasn't really sure what it was - a swirl of blood reds and yellows that tasted a bit like tangy pumpkin. It was supposed to be made from an Enarian fruit, but McCoy didn't bother to learn, much less remember, the name. It was good, though. Perhaps if he added a shot of bourbon it would taste even better.

"You sound excited. What's up?" Again, McCoy sighed. If he could trust anyone to drag out his deepest problems and beat them to death with a dish towel, it would be James T. Kirk.

"Absolutely nothing, I'm fucking peachy. When do we get out of here?" He didn't even bother to hide his distaste of the Enarians at this point. Maybe there _was_ something in his drink.

"Relax, Bones," Kirk grinned his thousand-watt grin, leaning casually against the sofa-like contraption McCoy was perched upon. It was damn comfortable, he would give it that much. "We've got another night here, then we can go back to the Enterprise and be on our way. Can you handle another night?"

McCoy made a noncommital sound, his gaze again fixed on the young ensign. The Enarian girl now had him ensnared in her abnormally long arms, practically encasing the boy like a spider before she devoured her victim. Chekov, to his credit, looked duly uncomfortable. He did not notice Kirk following his gaze, nor the wide smirk that graced his Captain's features.

"Anyway, Bones, I got work to do. Things to see, people to do, that sort of thing," Kirk trilled merrily before skipping off to do god-knows-what. Just this once, Bones was glad to see him go. He would rather be a lonely, bitter old man in peace tonight.

A few moments later, which McCoy had spent staring into his drink, a body plopped down on the seat next to him again. He glanced up, prepared to ward off Kirk or whoever else had decided to come bother him, but the words died on his lips at the sight of a flushed Chekov.

"Doctor! This planet, it is...very provocative. I have never been to such a place!"

Far too god damn innocent.

"You don't seem to mind, ensign," he said grumpily, probably with more jealousy than he intended to say it with. Wait, no. He was _not _jealous.

"Oh no, I do not. It is very refreshing to meet such a...er, free culture! They are quite fascinating, no?" He said it innocently, a little too innocently, but McCoy was in too much of a strop to notice the boy's innocent teasing.

"You did seem to be getting acquainted with a few of the women here. They your type of girl, ensign?" He refused to look at the boy for fear of doing something stupid.

After a short pause, he finally said, "No, doctor. They are very pretty, but they do not have the right type of, how you say...equipment."

McCoy's head snapped around to stare at the boy with flushed cheeks and wide blue eyes. His shiny lips curved into a mischievous smile, and McCoy continued to stare as if the boy had two heads.

"I...I, you're..ensign?"

"I am gay, Doctor. Did you not know?"

McCoy flushed and turned away, twirling his drink as a dismal attempt at a distraction. "No. No, I did not know."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

McCoy thought, and he thought hard, but the words came out of his mouth before he had even processed them completely. "No, it doesn't."

There was a small moment of silence between them, in which the doctor stared out at the dancing girls and Chekov stared at him, when finally the boy wet his lips nervously and supplied, "I like men. Older men. I always have."

McCoy felt ice, then heat, a dizzying swirl of emotions he wouldn't dream of naming in that moment, race down his spine and bloom into his stomach. But, no, the kid was _not _implying a damn thing and McCoy was just a dirty old man with dirty old dreams.

These thoughts quickly fizzled away with a well-placed, gentle hand on his thigh. The fingers curled around the appendage gently, firmly, and he slowly turned to look the boy in the eye. It was a mistake, he knew it, but damn if he was going to listen to reason at that moment.

"Doctor, I must confess something." He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. McCoy traced it with his eyes before his gaze fell on the thin, wet lips. They curved into a gentle smile, and he was lost. "I am very, very attracted to you." The very, pronounced "wery" by Chekov's Russian tongue, made McCoy unbelievably hot. "I would like to show you, doctor, how much I am attracted to you, if you would permit me. Tonight, even. I do not want to wait much longer."

"Tonight, huh?" His voice was huskier than he would have liked, but the shiver that ran down Chekov's spine made him reconsider. "Fourth door right, ensign. Don't make me wait much longer either."

The boy smiled so brightly McCoy almost wanted to close his eyes, but he would be damned if he missed a single minute of the boy's beauty now that he had it in his hands. "I would not dream of it, doctor!"

He got up, preparing to flounce away to god knows where, when he leaned down and whispered into McCoy's ear, "And please, doctor, call me Pavel."

He was absolutely _fucked_.

-:-

It had taken about one second for Chekov to enter his quarters before he was upon McCoy, ravenous and ready.

They had not even exchanged a single word when his wet mouth found McCoy's, already sucking the life out of him. Tongues tangled mercilessly, fighting and breathing for each other, slick and hot, and already McCoy's hands were helping the boy out of his uniform.

"Please, yes, please," he begged, oh _god _he begged. His mouth was far too sweet, and McCoy felt like a dirty old man for absolutely loving it.

A heavy hand curled around Chekov's cock, already hard and aching, and the boy positively whined, arching into McCoy. "Doctor," he breathed, moaned, begged, and McCoy grit his teeth against the wave of lust.

He leaned down to whisper in the boy's ear, "I want you to get on that bed right there and prepare yourself for me...Pavel."

Chekov whimpered, visibly shivering at McCoy's whispered command, but complied, sliding onto the bed and falling onto his back. He spread his legs lewdly, baring everything to the Doctor, who watched impassively.

"You do not know how long I have wished for this, doctor," Chekov whispered. He slid two, three fingers into his mouth, sucking and wetting, and McCoy squirmed. His pants were far too tight.

Those wet, slick fingers skimmed down a skinny body, skin stretched tight and pale over the gangly skeleton. McCoy could see the blueish hue of his veins from where he was standing. Those veins disappeared under contractions as one finger slipped inside of him, tight but welcomed.

One finger and the boy was already moaning.

Soft, tiny little moans that went straight to McCoy's dick. Chekov had always gone straight to McCoy's dick. He was a dirty, sick old man. _You aren't even that old, Bones,_ Jim would tell him, but he was. He had always been old. And Chekov? He was the very picture of youth, sweet youth and innocence, but not now, not now when he was on McCoy's issued bed in the middle of the Enarian consulate on Enara Prime.

Now, he was pure sin and seduction, with two fingers wiggling inside of his ass, his moans increased to a dry pleading for McCoy's cock.

It was all he needed.

His clothing had disappeared at some point, he was't sure where nor did he care, really, because his body was already draped over Chekov's, heavy with need. Chekov's pale, skinny hands came up, trembling, to cup his stubbled cheeks, and he planted a kiss, one sweet, chaste kiss, on the doctor's lips.

"Doctor," he whispered. "I was not going to tell you this. But suddenly I am here, in your bed, and you are going to fuck me. It is only fair that you know this." He stopped, paused, mouth open and full of words he wanted to say, was going to say, and finally, "I love you."

McCoy's lungs crashed into his stomach, organs burst and reformed, his skin broke open and his eyes bled. None of that happened. Only his heart, beating against his chest so rapidly it may as well burst. No, no, what was he doing? He couldn't do this.

"Kid, I..."

"Pavel."

"I can't. I can't do this. I'm almost twice your age, this isn't fair to you. You can't love me." He shook his head, over and over. This wasn't right.

A hand, skinny but sharp, collided with his shoulder. It didn't hurt, at all, but Chekov's angry eyes did. "And who are you to tell me who I can or cannot love? If I want to love a thirty year old man, I will. If I want to love you, I will! You cannot stop me."

McCoy was still on top of him, holding him down, but he didn't move. He was just selfish enough to stay where he was. "I know, kid..Pavel. I know. It's just..are you sure, about this? Are you sure about me?"

The boy's eyes widened, blue and clear. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes, doctor, more than anything. I am more sure than anything, ever."

McCoy wanted to say something, wanted to try and refute the boy once again, or maybe encourage him, he wasn't sure yet, but Chekov only smiled softly. "Fuck me, doctor, please?"

Any objections after that were out the window. Maybe some other day he could do this again with Chekov, only with Chekov, or maybe he would let his grumpy conscience get the better of him and he would ignore the boy at all costs, but right now, he was going to fuck that begging boy underneath him.

Chekov was tight, _so_ tight, and McCoy had to ask if the boy had ever done this before.

"No, never. You are my first," he breathed, his face clenched with the uncomfortable, burning stretch.

"Oh, why did I ask that when I'm inside you," McCoy groaned, but he made no move to pull away, or move at all, because Chekov was whimpering and trying not to cry. He would not make the boy cry, not tonight.

He was his _first,_ he was a dirty old man and he was Chekov's first, but he wasn't going to stop now, not when Chekov moved against him, cried out, begged for more. He wasn't going to stop and he was probably going to hell for it.

"Doctor, _please,_" Chekov breathed, far too gone to do anything but plead and beg for his cock, and McCoy gave it to him, again and again and again.

They fucked, sweet and gentle and almost loving, before Chekov suddenly pushed McCoy onto his back and rode him, _god_ he rode him. All pretense of sweetness was gone as Chekov had morphed into a lust-hungry beast, made of hips and desperate cries. He never screamed, and for that, he was grateful. His ex-wife was a screamer.

"Doctor," he spoke suddenly, spoke around the trails of sweat and the moans, "I am close. I am very, very close...please."

McCoy grabbed Chekov's hips in calloused hands and thrust up, hard, harder, until Chekov's voice broke and he came, thick stripes all over McCoy's chest, and McCoy groaned and came inside of Chekov.

Chekov had already slumped over his chest, completely ignoring the fact that he had settled into his own semen. "I still love you," he whispered against McCoy's chin, placing a soft kiss there, and McCoy felt something then.

The doctor smoothed his hand into Chekov's curls, suddenly wanting nothing more than to lay in that bed on Enara Prime with Chekov on his chest forever. He could forget being a doctor, he could forget Jim and Spock and Uhura, but he could never forget Chekov, and in that moment he knew exactly what that feeling was.

"I love you, too," he whispered against Chekov's hair, and he didn't even have to see it to know that Chekov smiled, just for him.


End file.
